Today’s writing prompt from the Daily Post at WordPress:
We’ve all had exchanges where we came up with the perfect reply — ten minutes too late. Write down one of those, but this time, make sure to sign off with your grand slam (unused) zinger.
(Ladies, this one is for you. Gents, you might like it too.)
The other day at my dentist’s office I crossed paths with an acquaintance from high school. (For discussion’s sake, let’s calI her Babsie). I wasn’t really very thrilled to see Babsie. She’s notorious for letting people know how financially successful she and her husband are. She’s in the habit of making thinly veiled comments that scream, “Look at me! Look at all the expensive stuff I have! I sure am special; don’t you agree”? Seriously, just ask anybody who knows her.
Now, a little background on Babsie. In high school, Babsie always had a lot of nice, new stuff. She would get to have lavish birthday parties and was given new sports car right before she turned sixteen. Her dad worked for an international aerospace company where he was on a fast track to moving from a middle-management position to upper management. In contrast, nearly all the students at my high school were children of blue-collar workers. In those days, the only way a blue-collar worker could afford to give his family a little extra was to work a lot of overtime, if the work was even there to be had. Suffice to say, Babsie developed her taste for expensive things, as well as her vanity and sense of entitlement, at a very early age.
As I stood in the dentist’s office listening to Babsie blab on about her wonderful life, her world travels and all of her expensive stuff, I couldn’t help but notice how ostentatious she was. Her fingers were decorated with glittering rings. She sported a pricey hairstyle and wore a beautiful snow-white Versace blouse. She was a living, breathing stereotype. I could barely stand watching her puffy, augmented lips move as she spoke. I envisioned myself grabbing the black permanent marker I had in my handbag and drawing a Kilroy on the back of her blouse.
Babsie made an insincere attempt to listen to what was happening in my life. I didn’t care about the insincerity because I really just wanted to get going before I drooled out of corner of my numb mouth. As we were saying our goodbyes, she reached into her handbag and retrieved a business card. She handed me the card and said, “Here honey, this is my stylist. Give her a call, she works wonders. Tell her you know me and she’ll take 10% off her fee. I know you’ll appreciate the discount”.
What! She did not say that, did she? My mouth hit the floor.
I had to leave before I tore out her extensions.
She then said, “Goodbye darling, how wonderful to see you”. I managed a crooked smile in spite of the numbness in my face. “Goodbye Babsie, good to see you too,” I replied through gritted teeth.
I felt like I needed a shower to rinse the gooey arrogance off after the Babsie encounter. I was so dumbfounded by her ability to spin an insult that I was without words. I was pissed that I took her verbal punches and never even got a single one in myself. While driving back home, my head began to clear. All of a sudden I came up with the perfect comeback to Babsie’s rude comments. As we were parting ways, I would have liked to have said:
“Well, you look great Babsie. Glad we had a chance to visit. Oh, by the way, I see you’re still able to wear the same make-up that you did in high school. So which drugstore do you buy it at?”
Okay, on the surface that doesn’t seem like much of a zinger. But to insinuate that she would buy her make-up at a drugstore would send Babsie’s head spinning in cicles. I would have really enjoyed that! Oh well, I guess it’s true what they say, timing is everything.